


The Great Feather War

by Rizobact



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: And feathers, Crack, Crushes, Feathers Everywhere, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Pranks, and amidst it all, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:06:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizobact/pseuds/Rizobact
Summary: Prowl didn't get involved in the pranks that ran rampant on the Ark, as a rule... until Jazz gets him to throw out the rules.





	

There were no supply shipments due that day. That was the first warning flag. Had it been Sideswipe bringing in crate after identical crate, carrying them through the main hangar to stack in a pile against the far wall of the Ark’s cargo bay, it would have been cause for an immediate full-scale investigation. As it was, Prowl was still highly suspicious as he watched the Autobot’s resident saboteur pass by with yet another large wooden box. 

He tried to tell himself not to worry or interfere. That worked up until Jazz walked by with a tenth crate.

“Jazz,” Prowl asked, following him to the growing tower. “What are all of these for?”

“These? Nothin’.” Jazz situated the latest addition and started making his way back to the entrance for another. “Just somethin’ I ordered online.” 

Prowl trailed behind him, frowning slightly. “I was hoping for a more specific answer.”

“Then ask a more specific question. Like, ‘Can I have a copy of the cargo manifest?’” Jazz said cheekily. “Answer to that’s ‘No’, by the way. Personal shipments aren’t subject to search if an officer signs for ‘em, and by  _ incredible  _ coincidence, I,” he said, blue visor twinkling with mischief, “just so happen to have the TIC’s signature right here on the delivery confirmation.”

An electronic copy of said confirmation popped up in Prowl’s inbox, Jazz’s glyph glowing mockingly at the bottom of it. Prowl was about to comment on the absurdity of an officer signing off on his  _ own  _ shipment, but then they rounded the doorway and he saw how  _ many  _ boxes were still waiting outside. 

Jazz picked one up and grinned. “What’s the matter, Prowler? You look like you don’t trust me or somethin’.”

“I trust you,” Prowl argued, recovering from his shock, “within certain limits. Which don’t include mysterious bulk shipments of indeterminate nature.” Together they crossed the hangar once more. “You may be the third in command, but that rank has never stopped you from pulling pranks and practical jokes in the past.”

“I’m hurt.” Jazz didn’t  _ sound  _ all that hurt as he hopped onto the stack to place the newest crate precariously at the top.

“I find that hard to believe,” Prowl said drily. “I insist on an explanation for these crates right now, beginning with what is in them.”

“You wanna know what’s in ‘em?” Jazz pulled the lid off the box he’d been balancing. “Here! Take a look!” He tipped it over to spill its contents onto Prowl from above.

Pillows. Dozens of oversized, fluffy pillows rained down onto the tactician’s helm. Several bounced off harmlessly to land at his feet, but one caught on the point of his chevron and tore. A flood of feathers flew from the ripped casing into his face, and Prowl jerked backward in surprise. Several of the pillows littering the ground around him burst into new clouds of feathers as he slipped on them, and he collapsed amidst the torrent of white fluff.

Jazz, laughing hysterically, just opened another crate and upended it as well for good measure. Prowl swatted at the offending objects as they buffeted his doorwings. One caught in the hinges, adding to the accumulation of loose feathers as he burst its seams trying to shake it free, and a second pillow popped on his chevron. 

There were so many of the little white nuisances in the air now that Prowl could no longer see through them. Huffing his vents in annoyance only stirred the feathers further, and any time he moved in the slightest, they swirled in new flurries all around him. 

At least Jazz didn’t seem interested in going for a third box; judging by the sound, he had come down from the pile and was trying to control his laughter.

Holding as still as possible, Prowl waited for both the feathers and Jazz to calm. “Whatever you thought you were going to do with the remaining pillows,” he ground out as soon as he could see again, “I forbid it. Clean this up and dispose of the rest, immediately.” 

He stood carefully to avoid slipping again on the empty pillow cases or exploding any of the still-intact ones, agitating the free-floating feathers again in the process. They rained off his frame and swirled in his wake as he stalked out of the hanger to the sound of Jazz’s laughter.

He should have stayed to make sure Jazz did as he’d ordered. The need to get the blasted things out of his joints and armor seams before they drove him crazy, however, drove any such caution from his mind. 

Jazz sat in the corner of the commissary, reliving the Pillow Incident from that morning with a smile curving his lips. Sure, he’d had to clean up all the feathers and scattered pillows, and he knew Prowl would insist he return the unopened boxes, but burying the SIC in feathers had been worth it. His planned prank was nowhere  _ near  _ as satisfying as that had been, and he could always come up with something  _ else  _ to do in retribution for the Air Freshener Debacle. Sideswipe was not going to escape his just desserts, oh no!

It had been genuinely unplanned, too. Jazz hadn’t thought about the pillows tearing when he’d dumped them on Prowl; he’d thought they would simply bounce off of him. When he’d seen the results of the first crate though, the second one had been entirely on purpose. Seeing Prowl sitting there in a storm of feathers with that stunned look on his face had just been  _ too  _ adorable.

Prowl really had no idea how cute he was, Jazz mused. When he was caught off guard, or on the extremely rare occasions when he actually relaxed, he was really attractive. Well. He was  _ always  _ attractive, as far as Jazz was concerned, but in those moments he seemed so much more approachable.

Hopefully Prowl had calmed down after storming off and written it off as Jazz just goofing around. The mech had been more relaxed since they’d awoken on Earth, a change Jazz credited largely to their human friends. Now there was a species that knew how to balance work with play! If he hadn’t though, Jazz would have to try to figure out a way to apologize…  _ without  _ sounding disingenuous or bursting into laughter, as he was struggling not to do now just remembering.

“Something amusing? I trust it isn’t further plans for those contraband pillows.”

Jerked out of his reverie, Jazz looked up at Prowl and breathed a sigh of relief to see that he no longer looked upset. Feathers gone, the Praxian seemed willing to put the incident behind them as long as it remained an isolated incident. 

“Nah, just rememberin’ something funny,” Jazz said, waving a hand dismissively. “Only plan I got for those pillows now is to send’ ‘em back in the mornin’. Unless you’re gonna let me set up a padded room in the brig for Sideswipe after all?” he asked hopefully.

“Is that why you got them?” Prowl’s lips twitched up the smallest fraction as he offered one of the two cubes he’d brought with him to Jazz. “I’m afraid I cannot condone that, though part of me feels it would be rather fitting.”

“Let me know if you change your mind. No hard feelings about what happened earlier?” Jazz asked, accepting the cube and raising it to his lips to drink.

Prowl’s slight smile widened. “None whatsoever.”

Something about his expression set off alarm bells in Jazz’s processor, but the warning came too late — he’d already taken a sip, and  _ something  _ was wrong. He spat the energon back out immediately and stared down into the cube.

Feathers.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very clever,” he said, standing to retrieve an uncontaminated cube. “You do know what this means, don’t you?”

“Yes. It means we’re even.”

“Oh no.” Jazz shook his finger at Prowl, whose doorwings shifted defensively in anticipation of an attack. “This,” he said emphatically, pointing at the feather-laced energon, “means  _ war._” 

For a moment Prowl looked like he was going to argue. Then his expression hardened, doorwings angling into an aggressive position as his optics sparkled dangerously. “Bring it on.”

Despite the confidence he’d displayed earlier, Prowl was already regretting his words the next day. What had come over him? His job was to  _ catch  _ the mechs perpetrating practical jokes, not to commit them himself! But he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation when the inspiration had struck. The memory of Jazz’s laughter had been enough to prompt him to save some of the feathers that had stuck in his joints rather than getting rid of them all and plot a way to return the favor.

That should have been the end of it. So why hadn’t he refused Jazz’s challenge? He tried to rationalize that if he’d allowed Jazz to go ahead with pranking Sideswipe, instead of distracting him, the series of escalating retaliations would have embroiled the entire ship, but it was a weak excuse and he knew it.

Prowl enjoyed a good challenge.

So now he’d been on edge ever since he woke up, waiting for Jazz’s response. He’d been expecting him to jump out at any moment, and by the time he reached his office completely uneventfully, his cables were wound so tight he was getting a tension processorache.

It was almost a relief when he opened a drawer and feathers exploded out to cover the surface of his desk.

Prowl let the feathers settle, waiting for Jazz to reveal himself. When he didn’t, Prowl was certain that there were more traps littered around the office. Jazz must be lurking somewhere nearby, watching to see how many he set off.

Fine. Fool me once… Prowl proceeded to open every single drawer in his desk. Sure enough, each expelled additional feathery puffs. Looking around to see what else Jazz could have stuffed with feathers, Prowl started opening the drawers of the filing cabinets along the wall next, and searching the cubbies along the shelves as well. 

He wasn’t disappointed. By the time he had gone through every last compartment in the room, every single surface was completely covered with feathers — but there was still no sign of Jazz. Prowl tried to brush off his chair, but eventually gave up clearing it completely and just sat down amidst the feathers, trying to figure out what he had missed. 

Then he made the mistake of looking up at the vent cover in the ceiling above him. A flicker of blue behind the grate was the only warning he got.

“Gotcha!” a familiar voice sang out. A second later, Prowl’s field of vision was obscured once more by a rain of fluffy white down.

Jazz was grinning down at him when they finally all drifted to the ground. Prowl was about to order him to come out and clean up his office, but then thought better of allowing him to reclaim any ammunition. 

“Why don’t you make yourself useful, Jazz,” he said instead as he stood, “and finish my reports for me while I clean up your mess.” A chagrined groan echoed from the vent as the report requests all appeared in Jazz’s inbox, followed by soft grumbling as he retreated down the vents. 

Now it was Prowl’s turn to grin as he started setting the office to rights. “I need them by 5PM today,” he called after Jazz, actually feeling like he’d come out ahead in this exchange. Even if he was the one currently swimming in a sea of feathers. Now he just needed to decide how to get back at Jazz… 

“You’re late, mech. What kept you?”

“Slaggin’ paperwork,” Jazz cursed good-naturedly as he joined his friends in the rec room and pulled up a chair in their corner.

“You? Paperwork?” Blaster repeated, confused. “I thought you avoided that stuff like a bad rust infection.”

“I do! Usually. But I kinda cornered myself this time,” he admitted, then smiled conspiratorially. “It was worth it though.”

Bluestreak looked up from tuning the oversized guitar Sideswipe had recently acquired (somehow) for him. “Why? Was it a punishment for something? What did you do?”

Sideswipe himself snickered, tapping a pair of drumsticks against his leg impatiently. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the cloud of feathers that blew into my face when I stopped by Prowl’s office this morning, would it?”

“No way — you pranked Prowl?” Blaster stopped fiddling with the settings on his synthesizer. “I’m surprised you’re here at all instead of in the brig! You know better than that!”

“And here I thought those pillows were going to be for me,” Sideswipe said, fake-remorse dripping from every word. “Does that mean you’ve admitted defeat and conceded the title of Master Prankster to me?”

“No way,” Jazz shot back. “I’ll finish with you when you least expect it. I just need to take Prowl down first. Though believe me, I’m still shocked he even agreed to this. I figured he was going to make me send those crates back for sure.”

A sour twang accompanied Bluestreak’s gasp of surprise. “You mean you really  _ are  _ pranking Prowl? And he’s actually pranking you back?!” Guitar forgotten, Bluestreak’s  expression went from surprised to concerned. “Maybe he’s sick. You should tell him to see Ratchet, not make it worse by playing jokes on him!”

“Who needs to see me?” Ratchet asked, passing by the group with Ironhide on their way out. “You all look okay to me, and since you haven’t started practicing, no one should have any shattered audials yet.”

“Oh, is that why you’re leaving all of a sudden?” Jazz teased, pulling out his trumpet and waving it at them. “You mean you don’t find a good jam soothin’ and relaxin’?”

“No, we don’t,” Ratchet said, right as Ironhide said, “Maybe later.”

Laughing, Jazz made a shooing motion with his free hand. “Well get goin’ then. And don’t worry Ratch, no one’s sick. Prowl finally cutting loose and spiking my energon with feathers is not a sign of processor damage. Or the apocalypse.”

“That’s it? He put feathers in your energon? That’s so lame!” Sideswipe whined. “He’s got one of the best processors on the  _ planet _ in that helm of his and  _ that  _ was the best he could come up with?!”

“Hey, cut him some slack! He’s new at this.” Jazz brought his trumpet up to his lips to play a mocking riff at Sideswipe, but no sound came out. “What the—?” He tried again. Still nothing.

“What’s the matter? Did you forget how to — GAH!” 

A cloud of feathers blew out the bell of the trumpet, along with a distinctly unmusical blat of sound, right into Sideswipe’s face. Flailing backward to escape them, the red frontliner upset his chair and toppled over onto his drumset. The resulting clatter of drums and ringing of cymbals bouncing off his plating echoed loudly in the stunned silence in the room.

Then everyone burst out laughing. 

“Mech, your face! That was priceless!” Jazz gasped. “Looks like you’ve managed to catch your share of the jokes after all!”

“No fair, this’s supposed to be between you two,” Sideswipe complained, though he was laughing too as he began righting the drums. “Wow. I take it back: stuffing feathers in your trumpet is  _ way  _ lamer than feathered energon.”

“Oh, no, that’s just him getting warmed up!” Ironhide chuckled. “You’re in real trouble Jazz, with Prowl as your opponent.”

“To quote the mech himself, bring it.” Jazz checked his trumpet for any remaining obstructions while Ratchet gave Sideswipe a quick once-over to make sure he hadn’t damaged anything other than his pride with his fall. “I’m the best in the biz. There’s no way he’s out-pranking me!”

“My money’s on Jazz,” Blaster said firmly.

“Ditto!” was Bluestreak’s vote.

“Don’t be so sure,” Ratchet warned, giving Sideswipe the all-clear. “Prowl’s resourceful and persistent, and if you’ve pushed him to the point of actually participating in this nonsense? He’s not going to back down until you wave the white flag.”

“Never happen,” Jazz promised. “Only way this ends is when Prowler throws in the towel. Or we run out of pillows,” he tacked on as an afterthought.

“Primus help us,” Ironhide sighed.

Prowl was stopped several times on his way to the washracks by mechs alternately asking if he was really taking on Jazz in a prank war and wishing him luck cutting him down to size. Mirage and Sunstreaker even managed to do both without uttering a single word; they simply looked at him with expressions indicating they had been expecting him to break down and that it was only a matter of time before Jazz met his match.

Everyone’s interest and approval only had Prowl doubting his decision all over again. Even if no one was put off by his sudden and blatant disregard for the rules and appropriate behavior,  _ he  _ felt like he was letting himself down. But Prowl didn’t back down once he’d committed to something. And he couldn’t very well have everyone thinking Jazz had won!

Entering the washracks, Prowl replayed the security footage he’d swiped of the scene in the rec room. Jazz had hidden it better and rallied quicker than Sideswipe, but he’d been surprised too. For the briefest moment Prowl had him on camera, an expression of shock and wonder stamped across his features. It was… beautiful.

Shaking his helm, Prowl turned reached up to start the flow of cleanser. Bad enough he’d allowed himself to get dragged into this ridiculousness with the feathers. There was no way he was going to waste  _ more  _ time staring at security images of Jazz thinking useless things like that.

He was just about to turn his processor to reviewing the reports Jazz had completed (surprisingly on time) before seeing if Chip was available for a round of online chess when he realized he had a much more immediate problem. Namely, the torrent of feathers cascading from the showerhead along with the cleanser to stick all over his plating.

Prowl was completely coated in the things before he could manage to shut off the flow. Quickly he sent an override code to the door to prevent anyone opening it to keep the feathers from escaping into the hallway. He’d had enough trouble chasing down the renegades in the hall after opening his office door.

Locking the door would also prevent anyone from coming in and seeing him like this. Prowl was acutely aware of how ridiculous he looked. It was probably too much to hope that Jazz hadn’t gotten pictures  _ somehow,  _ but still, minimizing the exposure as much as possible was definitely in his best interest.

That meant not calling Jazz to take care of this mess until he’d done something about the state of his plating. Plugging the drain to keep it from clogging, Prowl tested each of the other showerheads (just how many had Jazz filled with feathers?!) until he found one that actually ran clean. In a fit of pique, he started flinging gooey clumps of feathers onto the walls and even some on the ceiling where they stuck and dripped as he finished his shower. Why should he make it easy for Jazz to clean up? He was going to need as much time as he could get to set up his retaliation.

Jazz was completely exhausted after scrubbing out the entire washracks. Maybe Ironhide and Ratchet were right about Prowl beating him, because despite the tactician’s pranks being nothing but small, cheap tricks, he’d managed to turn each of Jazz’s own jokes back on him! Spending the whole day working and cleaning was not his idea of a good time.

With any luck he’d be able to come up with something that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the morning. For now, all he wanted was a good night’s rest. At least he’d gotten a couple good image captures of Prowl plastered with feathers. Surveillance in the washracks was fairly limited, a fact Red Alert frequently lamented, but Jazz had taken the liberty of installing an extra, unofficial camera when he’d tampered with the shower heads. Having to wash the place from top to bottom (had Prowl  _ really _ needed to throw the stuff up on the ceiling like a sparkling?!), he had been able to retrieve the device before anyone else could notice it. 

He was too tired to figure out how to best use those pictures right now though. Back in his quarters at last, Jazz grabbed the folded thermal blanket off the end of his berth, and flopped down onto the padded surface as he unfurled it. 

He realized his mistake before he’d even landed on the berth, but it was too late to abort his movement. Feathers fluttered out of the blanket above him as he fell, and Jazz  _ knew  _ that wasn’t all of it. What he was about to land on only  _ looked  _ like the usual cover of his berth. He shut his vents tightly against what was coming.

Sure enough, as soon as he struck it, the mattress burst. Instead of the usual memory foam pad, Jazz landed on dozens of thin, flimsy pillows in a clever slipcover that stood absolutely no chance against his mass. White and gray feathers billowed out from underneath his frame as the ones from the blanket drifted down softly to settle with the rest.

Laughing silently through closed vents to avoid pulling any of the things into his intakes, Jazz lay on the berth for a moment and applauded the empty room. Getting up as carefully as he could so as not to disturb the fluff as much as possible, he went over to his closet to grab a different blanket so he could sleep on the couch. Cleaning the room could wait until he wasn’t so tired—

—or not! 

Pulling down the spare blanket brought with it another shower of feathers. Jazz stared mutely at the fluttering shapes. Of  _ course  _ Prowl would be thorough enough to get the extras. His helm snapped around to glare suspiciously at the couch. Walking over to it, he examined the cushions without touching them, debating whether to risk setting it off or not when he couldn’t tell right away if there was anything wrong with it. It didn’t  _ look  _ like they had been replaced the way the padding on the berth had been, but Jazz didn’t doubt for a second that there were feathers stuffed down between the cushions that would be forced out if he put any weight on them.

Leaning one gingerly forward confirmed it. There were  _ still more  _ feathers clinging to the fabric, shivering like they were just waiting for an excuse to become airborne. Jazz let the cushion fall backwards, one or two feathers escaping to join the fluff that had followed him from over from the berth.

“I’d ask is nothin’ sacred, sneakin’ in here and messin’ with my room, but he’d probably say I violated the sanctity of his office first.” Jazz looked around the room and could only shake his helm. “Well, he can make me clean the washracks, but I ain’t cleanin’ this! I’ll just find someone to bunk with for the night!” 

He started to bring the blanket still gripped in his hand, but then thought better of it. Several feathers were still embedded in it, and no amount of shaking was going dislodge them all even if Jazz was stupid enough to create a breeze and agitate the rest of the feathers. Which he wasn’t.

“It’d serve Prowl right if I showed up at his door and said I was sleeping with him,” he muttered, debating doing just that. Part of him really would like to spend the night with Prowl… but no. That probably wasn’t a great idea while they were in the middle of a Feather War. Instead he dropped the feather-laden blanket and headed down the hall towards Blaster’s quarters, figuring he’d be able to get at least some recharge after his friend finished laughing at him.

“They haven’t stopped yet?” First Aid asked Ratchet as Prowl chased Jazz down the hall past the medbay. Somehow Jazz had managed to catch him asleep and fill the interior of his altmode with feathers. Prowl had taken off after him as soon as he’d woken up, sirens blaring and feathers spewing from his open windows, unable to transform without getting them caught in his seams. Jazz had been forced to take to his tires to keep from getting run over.

“I was hoping they would run out of feathers,” Ratchet replied, forcefully hitting the button to close the doors to keep the strays from dancing into the medbay. “I’m getting tired of them turning up all over the Ark!”

“They really are everywhere.” Hound, recently returned from a mission and just now getting brought up to speed on the madness that had broken out while he was away, already had feathers caught in the mud caked in his gears just from walking in. “I can’t believe Prowl of all mechs is involved!”

“I think the feathers have gotten into his processor,” Ratchet grumbled, sounding both frustrated and resigned. “He was long overdue for a break, but next time I’m going to insist he take a vacation before anything like this starts looking reasonable.”

“Where’d they get all the feathers?”

“Jazz ordered a bunch of crates of pillows, for what I’m sure were perfectly innocent reasons,” Ratchet sighed. “At least Prowl forbid him to order any more. They have to be almost out by now.”

“Actually, the crates are already empty,” First Aid interjected nervously. “They’ve been saving all the feathers they can every time they have to clean up after a prank and reusing them for the last two days.”

“They’ve been what?! That’s it! I’m putting an end to this!”

“They both outrank you,” Hound pointed out.

“Well I know a mech that outranks both of  _ them!  _ And I’m going to make him stop them!” 

First Aid and Hound watched as Ratchet stormed over to the intercom. “He’s calling in the big guns, isn’t he?” Hound asked.

“Looks like,” First Aid confirmed. “They really should have quit while they were ahead.”

Prowl had managed to shed enough feathers to transform and chase Jazz on foot to the rec room. Jazz reached for a beanbag chair to throw at him to slow him down, but he the not-actually-a-beanbag exploded in feathers around him when he grabbed it. Cursing, Jazz whipped out a portable vacuum to recapture as many of the floating feathers as he could before Prowl could do the same. 

The sudden roar of twin vacuums startled the hidden watcher in the vents. Ravage, true to cats everywhere, fled from the sound with an aggravated yowl. His departure through the chaos went completely unnoticed as Jazz switched his vacuum to ‘reverse’ to blast a stream of feathers at Prowl’s face with a triumphant shout.

It wasn’t long before both vacuums clogged with all the feathers. Prowl reached into his subspace for his last remaining re-stuffed pillow and lunged at Jazz, brandishing it like a sword. Jazz yanked out one last pillow of his own to block the attack, then swung back at Prowl in a counterattack.

They were both so caught up in the genuine all-out pillow fight that they missed the shadow of a large frame looming up in the doorway.

“ _Enough!_ ” Optimus Prime’s powerful voice boomed across the room. Prowl and Jazz both froze, arms raised in a comical tableau poised for the next strike. “This has gone on long enough. If you are not going to come your senses, you leave me no choice but to intervene and put a stop to this nonsense.”

Prowl’s arms fell to his sides, his expression stricken. Jazz merely looked chagrined, but he too lowered his ‘weapon’. Neither of them said anything; what could they say? Even Jazz knew there were no excuses to be made for the wreckage of the room.

Optimus raised a hand over optics and sighed. “Prowl, I am pleased to see you’ve found an outlet for some of your stress. However, I would advise something a little more constructive next time. And Jazz? I trust you will do a better job setting limits before things get so out of hand.”

Prowl stiffened at the criticism. “Yes, sir,” he said with a crisp nod, while Jazz apologetically mumbled the same.

“I expect better of you in the future.” Optimus looked back and forth between the two slowly. “Now. I don’t want to see a single feather on this ship after today. More importantly,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “you don’t want  _ Ratchet  _ to see a single feather anywhere after today. The two of you are going to scour the entire Ark from top to bottom and get rid of every last one. Understood?”

“Understood!”

“Good. You can get started in here.” Then, with one final stern look, Optimus left them to their task.

Prowl remained immobile for a long moment after he left, clearly embarrassed. Jazz started to feel guilty looking at him. “I’m sorry, Prowl,” he said, walking over to gently brush a few feathers from his arm. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I just…” he trailed off, helm dipping to stare at the floor, unable to meet Prowl’s blank optics. “I was having fun, and thought you were having fun too. It was nice, and I didn’t want it to end.”

Leaving Prowl where he was, Jazz shuffled through the feathers on the floor, kicking up little puffs as he crossed the room to retrieve his discarded vacuum. Prowl still didn’t move. “Hey. He wasn’t really that mad, you know,” Jazz said, trying to sound reassuring instead of worried. “It looked like he was kinda amused, but couldn’t admit it.”

“I can’t wrap my processor around why I agreed in the first place,” Prowl lamented, shaking off his paralysis at last. “Something must be wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you! It’s called an ‘impulse decision’, something even you ain’t immune to,” Jazz chided gently. “Though I gotta admit, I wasn’t expecting you to go more than one or two exchanges, tops.”

“I meant to stop, at first,” Prowl admitted haltingly. “But… I was enjoying watching you.” 

Jazz suddenly felt a bit choked for air, and not because he’d closed his vents against the feathers. Standing there in the middle of the wrecked rec room, frame still littered with stubborn clinging feathers, Prowl was smiling at him like he was the only thing in the room that mattered. 

He was gorgeous.

“You were having so much fun,” Prowl continued, his brilliant optics fixed on Jazz’s heating face. “I didn’t want to be the reason you stopped smiling.”

“Prowler…”

It was like watching a movie in slow motion: Jazz saw Prowl’s lips part as he started to say something and take a step toward him, only to put his foot down on the pillow he had dropped earlier. Hidden beneath a layer of shifting fluff, Prowl didn’t see it until it was too late, and the only sound he let out was a startled exclamation as he slipped. He had nothing to catch himself on, so down he went, landing hard as all the feathers erupted upwards around him in a swirling white cloud.

There was a beat of silence. And then Prowl started laughing. Honest to Primus laughing.

“This seems rather familiar,” Prowl chuckled, peering up at Jazz through the feathers. His doorwings fluttered behind him, stirring up the feathers further and preventing them from settling. “I believe this is how this all started.”

His laughter was contagious, and soon Jazz found himself joining in. “It is, isn’t it? Only I don’t have any pillows left to drop on you.” 

“Alas.” Prowl was still smiling as Jazz came over to stand in front of him. He meant to offer him a hand up, but then, following an impulse decision of his own, Jazz leaned down to drop something else on Prowl instead.

The kiss landed on Prowl’s upturned lips as lightly as the feathers caressing his plating, there and gone so quickly he could almost have imagined it.

“Pleh! You taste like feathers,” Jazz said intelligently, trying to cover his sudden nerves. “Maybe we should do like OP said and clean all this up, yeah?” He turned away and grabbed his vacuum, leaving Prowl on the floor behind him. What had possessed him to kiss Prowl like that? It was one thing to  _ think  _ about doing something like that, but actually  _ doing  _ it?! It made about as much sense as two grown mechs engaging in a pillow war.

Jazz snuck a peek peripherally at Prowl under his visor as he started working on unclogging the vacuum so he could get it to run again. Prowl had gotten up and was looking over his vacuum speculatively, though Jazz doubted clogged filters were what was on his processor.

“You know,” Jazz said, trying to think of a way to distract Prowl from the kiss, “if all it takes to chase Ravage off is a vacuum cleaner maybe we should invest in a few Roombas.”

Prowl looked up, confused until he processed what Jazz had said. “We could look into it, although I doubt it would deter any of Soundwave’s other cassettes.” 

“Probably not.” Jazz finished fiddling with the vacuum and gestured with the wand at the mess around them. “So. Ready to start cleanin’ and put all this behind us?”

“All of it?” Prowl asked, a curious look on his face as he stood. Jazz was about to tell Prowl he was sorry about the kiss, that it was an accident and he wouldn’t do it again, but he didn’t get the first word out before Prowl closed the distance between them and oh-so-gently covered his lips with his own.

“Even that?” Prowl whispered as he broke their second kiss. Then he seemed to catch himself and pulled away abruptly, embarrassment practically radiating off his frame. “I should not have — I shouldn’t presume that — please forgive my imposition,” he stammered helplessly.

“No! Please, impose away!” Jazz said hurriedly, beaming as he grabbed Prowl’s hand to keep him from making a hasty retreat. “I was going to apologize to you, but I suppose I don’t really have to now, do I?”

Prowl’s armor loosened from the tight clamp he’d pulled his plating down into. “No, you don’t,” he said, closing his fingers around Jazz’s to return the hold.

“Unle~ess,” Jazz drew out the word, “you let me apologize for that sorry excuse for a kiss and do better?”

“We’re supposed to be cleaning,” Prowl pointed out. It wasn’t a no.

“The mess ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Jazz grinned as he pulled Prowl in close. “And neither are we.”

“Prowl’s had Jazz in his office for an awfully long time now,” Red Alert complained. “Shouldn’t someone check on them?”

Bumblebee shook his helm. “I’m sure it’s fine. He’s probably just lecturing him about the pillow fight and telling him it’s his fault they got scolded by Optimus.”

“I still think it’s been too long.”

“If it would reassure you, perhaps I could make sure they’re alright?” Mirage offered.

“Please! I’ve already tried both of their communicators and haven’t gotten any response!”

Mirage was not overly concerned by that, though he still headed off towards Prowl’s office with a promise to report back. Jazz frequently put off replying to non-urgent calls when he was occupied with other tasks, and Prowl outranked Red Alert and could easily have been working on something he was unwilling to interrupt for anything short of a true emergency.

Fully expecting to find both officers buried in the neglected work that had piled up while they’d been too busy with feathers to do their jobs, Mirage froze at the unexpected sight that greeted him when he cracked the door.

Prowl was seated behind his desk, but his attention wasn’t on the datapads strewn across it. He was focused entirely on the mech currently settled in his lap, kissing him senseless.

::Close the door, wouldja?:: Mirage heard over his comms. Somehow Jazz had noticed his presence, though he gave no outward sign of it. ::And do me a favor — lock it on your way out.::


End file.
